Contortion
by tere moto the sentry
Summary: One shot. In an ironic twist of fate, Dib learns that bad deeds don't always go unpunished.


Disclaimer: Invader ZIM and related stuff belong to Jhonen Vasquez and Viacom. Except for a few minor names, characters, etc. mentioned in the fic.

Author's Note: I thought of what led to this fic while lying in bed, to whom it may interest.

Contortion

Dib groaned in dread upon reaching the hospital turnoff. However, he did take a moment to be grateful that he could spend a little time with his father, even if it was one car ride a week.

"I realize you hate doing this, son," Professor Membrane offered sympathetically, "but chin up—only five more sessions left."

Dib nodded as best he could, and his dad glanced over and patted his head before parking the car. "That's my boy."

That small sign of affection from his father brought a big smile to the boy's face. But next was the part he savored most about the ride. To get the child out of the car, it was necessary that Membrane lift him out of the seat and into the awaiting wheelchair. Even if it wasn't necessarily an embrace of love, Dib still relished every moment of being held in his father's arms.

Sitting again in the chair, he was patted on the head once more by the professor.

"See you later, son," Membrane turned to hop back in the car.

"Bye, Dad," the boy returned the farewell as he was wheeled towards the building by a nurse. He wished he could have gotten up and given his dad a goodbye hug, but he was physically unable to, an idea that had frustrated him for a period going on two weeks now.

Entering the lobby, he was taken immediately to a front desk partially encompassing a bespectacled receptionist with a ballpoint pen behind her ear.

"Ah yes, Mister Dib. Doctor Nucleus will see you soon."

He returned her polite smile before being brought near the lobby seats. As the nurse left, Dib turned his head—albeit with considerable difficulty—to see who occupied the seats beside him. There was a young girl with an arm in a sling and presumably her mother in the next chair. She noticed his gaze and eyed him in question. He smiled slightly with a small "Hi", but he had no idea she'd offer him a dirty look. The smile dropped, and Dib turned away with a slight blush. It wasn't such a terrible surprise, but considering the reason for that was that he was used to it, he wished it _was_ a worse surprise. It was then that the mother turned to look.

"Is this boy bothering you, sweetie?" she placed a hand on her daughter's lap.

"He was staring at me, Mommy," the girl answered.

"I was only looking for a short time," Dib tried in his defense, "She just noticed after I looked."

"I won't have you picking on my daughter, young man," the woman told him sternly, "Come now, Judy, maybe the doctor will let us wait outside his office, where there's _no harassment_." Shooting a glare at Dib, she ushered her daughter down the hall.

The boy shot a quick look around him (that is, the quickest look he could manage with his stiffened neck) to make sure no one else had seen that incident. He reflected bitterly on how there were things in life that _shouldn't_ embarrass one, but _did_. _Just like taking one's steps so carefully and still walking into an enemy's trap—_

"The doctor will see you now, sir," a nurse interrupted his thoughts.

Dib swallowed. "Okay," he said at a barely audible level. The nurse, an aged woman with soft, wise eyes had a look that mildly comforted him, as she noticed his nervousness. She wheeled him down the hall, and Dib nearly winced at the powerful stench of antiseptics. The corridor was too short for comfort; they arrived at the end too soon. The child grimaced anxiously at the sign on the door they arrived at: "Doctor Nucleus: Physical Therapy".

Dib anxiously wished he had the use of his legs, or at least a mouth-powered wheelchair. He wasn't even halfway through his physical therapy sessions, and didn't know how he'd stand another. He was taken into the room and greeted by the doctor, and it began.

The physical therapy mainly consisted of various whit coats bending him, stretching him, poking and prodding him, and asking him if this hurt or that hurt. And most of it did. Dib was regularly wheeled out of the clinic in tears.

Today was no exception. The nurse brushed a tear from the young boy's face. They returned to the lobby, where Dib was surprised to see his sister already waiting to take him home. The nurse handed him over to Gaz with a smile and a "Good day". Gaz grunted a "Whatever" in return, and noticed the terribly pained look on her brother's face. She didn't mutter "Whiner" to him this time, but her eyes did.

"Hi, Gaz…" her agonized sibling forced a smile.

She eyed him sourly. "If I'm doing this for you, you're _not_ to say a word to me. Clear?"

He gave her a stiff nod. Sighing, she reluctantly moved him out of the building and down the sidewalk towards home. As they moved along, Gaz made several grumblings and other angry noises, and thought he was tempted to ask if it was difficult for her to push the chair, he opted not to. She had warned him once. And that probably wasn't the reason anyway. His sister had made it clear before that any sort of favor she was forced to do for him greatly inconvenienced her. And this—taking him home after each therapy session—put her in the worst of moods, not only on the one afternoon a week she had to do it, but the rest of the week as well.

Reaching the city sidewalk, Dib cringed and slightly whimpered as he was driven over several large cracks in the concrete. He expected Gaz at any second to growl at him for vocalization, but she was silent until she spotted her favorite store along the way.

"When did they put in a new Lukewarm Conversation Starter here?" she wondered aloud. She steered her brother to the side of the walkway and headed inside.

"Wait—Gaz!" But it was too late for her to hear him. She would have rather she'd taken him inside with her; he wasn't all that fond of being left alone on a city sidewalk. Ironically though, he wasn't so for long. Steam formed deep inside of him and spread throughout his body when he heard a familiar taunt ring out.

"_Hellohhh_, dirt child!" Dib's Irken nemesis was approaching him. The boy's neck refused to allow him to face Zim, but nevertheless he formed the enraged look he would have shown him.

The alien then side-stepped in front of him. "I was _over there_," he taunted, pointing. "Can't the Earth filth be bothered to turn and look at his mighty adversary?"

Dib smiled. "No."

"Aww, but I see it in your eyes. How you wish you could." Zim punctuated the last word with a sharp poke to the human's chest.

"Isn't it enough for you that you yourself did this to me?" Dib glared at him, "No, clearly you have to add insult to your own created injury."

His enemy could think of no other response than to ignore him. "Ahh, the things I could do to you and you couldn't do anything about it." He happened to glance up and see the Lukewarm Conversation Starter store and chuckled. "Ha, I see. Sister's in there, eh? This would be too easy."

"_Gaz!_" Dib yelled behind him. "Ga—Ow! _Zim!_ Quit it!" But Zim giggled and continued to poke him. "I mean it, Zim—Gaz never takes long in there—ow—She'll be out here soon—Oww!"

"Next time I'll make sure my lawn gnomes freeze your mouth shut as well," the alien decided.

"Zim," Dib sneered, "When I get out of this wheelchair, _you—will—pay—dearly_."

"Oh, will I?" Zim asked in amusement. "Why not make me pay right now? Ah, yes, because your inferior human muscles can't take a little electricity."

Furious, Dib willed himself to his feet with all his might, but the best he managed was a twitch of his left leg.

"Hahaha, look at you," his instigator continued, "That's your idea of making me pay? Look, _look,_ I can just walk away and you can't do anything." So saying he backed away in demonstration, leaving the sidewalk and entering the street.

"Come get me, _Dib_," he teased further, backing farther away. All of Dib's strength was soon put into rising to his feet and chasing after him. But it was no use. He strained but remained planted in the chair, barely able to move. Zim cackled in victory, striding away.

"I win yet again, human filth," the invader called back to him, "I will always win, because _I—am—Z—_"

But Zim never got to finish his signature battle cry, because neither he nor Dib ever saw the van jump the nearby corner. With a screeching of tires and a sickening thud, Zim would never harm Dib again.

The boy sat there silently, staring out at the green heap in the street that had moments ago been teasing him, needling at him, making fun of him for something the Irken himself had caused. He was the biggest obstacle in Dib's life, and Dib was sick of it. But if he had _succeeded_ in getting up and chasing down his enemy…would _he_ have been under the vehicle's wheels instead?

Certainly Dib would have been relieved were he not in shock. It was not even ten minutes later that his sister emerged from the store behind him, shopping bag in hand, and she was pleased, though surprised, that she did not hear a word out of him the rest of the way home. Dib felt extremely stiff the rest of the day, but not only because of his muscular injury.


End file.
